Alien

by Tim Lebbon

  The mine wasn’t far above the cavern’s ceiling. He was sure of it. They were almost there.

  “No sign of anything following us,” Lachance said.

  “That’s what worries me,” Hoop said. “I think I’d rather see them than wonder where the fuck they are.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Then Lachance nodded ahead. “What do you think?”

  “I think we’ve got no choice.” They moved across the rubble field toward the opening in the cavern’s looming wall.

  17

  ANCIENTS

  When he was a kid, Hoop’s parents took him to see the Incan ruins in Ecuador. He’d seen footage about them on the NetScreen, and read about them in the old books his parents insisted on keeping. But nothing had prepared him for the emotions and revelations he felt walking among those ancient buildings.

  The sense of time, and timelessness, was staggering. He walked where other people had walked a thousand years before, and later he thought back to that moment as the first time mortality truly came knocking. It hadn’t troubled him unduly. But he’d realized that his visit to those ruins was as fleeting as an errant breeze, and would have as much effect as a leaf drifting in from the jungles and then vanishing again. The memory of his being there would float to the floor and rot away with that leaf, and fascinated visitors even a hundred years hence would have never heard of him.

  It was humbling, but it was also strangely uplifting. We all have the same, he’d once heard someone say, one life. Even as a teenager more concerned with girls and football, that had struck him as deep and thoughtful. One life... it was up to him how well he lived it.

  Looking at those Incan ruins, he’d vowed to live it well.

  * * *

  Staring at what was left of this strange, ancient place, he wondered what had gone wrong.

  There was some property to the stone all around them that gave it a subdued glow. It was light borrowed from the flashlights, he was sure, subsumed and then given back as a surprisingly sharp luminosity. He’d shine his flashlight at one spread of stone, move it aside, and the stone would glow for a long while afterward. It helped them light their way. It helped them see where they were going.

  This wasn’t part of the ship on which they had been. This was a building, a grounded structure built into the rock of the land. It was a ruin, yet one that was remarkably well preserved in places.

  Fleeing though they were, Hoop couldn’t help staring around in wonder.

  They’d entered through a badly damaged area, climbing over piles of rubble, some of the fragments the size of one of their boots, some five yards across. Anything could have been hiding in the shadows. From what they could see, nothing was, or if it was it remained hidden.

  They soon found themselves on a curving, sloping path that led upward, and kicking aside dust and gravel Hoop could make out the fine mosaics that made up the paving. Swirls of color, unfaded by the immensity of time. Curling, sharp patterns, features he could not make out, splashed shapes that fought and rested in harmony with each other. He suspected the mosaic told a story, but it was too smothered with dust for him to make it out. And perhaps he was too short to appreciate the full tale. Those dog-aliens might have seen it better, with their longer legs, higher heads.

  This was amazing. An alien civilization, an intelligence the likes of which had never yet been discovered in almost two centuries of space exploration, and many hundreds of star systems entered and charted.

  “I don’t think I can process any of this,” Lachance said. “I don’t think I can think about it all, and run at the same time.”

  “Then just run,” Hoop said. “You okay there?”

  Lachance was still lugging Sneddon, slung across one shoulder so that he could still access his charge thumper with the other hand.

  “All that time in the Marion’s gym is paying off.”

  “Tell me if—”

  “You’ve got enough on your mind.” And Lachance was right. Ripley still clung to Hoop’s arm, and though her eyes were open and he could see that she was taking some of this in, she was still bleeding, stumbling, fading in and out. They’d have to stop soon. Patch her up.

  Baxter and Kasyanov were helping each other, arms slung over shoulders like casual lovers.

  The curved path rose around a massive central column, like the largest spiral staircase ever. The huge building’s ceiling was high, damaged in places but still largely whole. Their flashlights lit some of the way ahead, and the glowing property of the stone helped level the illumination. But there were still heavy shadows in front of them, hiding around the bend, concealing whatever waited.

  Hoop remained ready.

  Doorways led off from the central spiral. There were intricate designs around these, beautiful sculptures showing dog-aliens in what must have been tales from their civilization’s past, real or mythical. He saw the creatures in groups and ranks, at war, bathing, creating an obscure form of art, exploring, and in some carved spreads they seemed to be interacting with other, even stranger looking creatures. There were star charts and the representations of aircraft, spacecraft, and giant floating things that might even have been living. This made him think of the buried vessel they had just left behind, and the implications...

  They were staggering, yet still too dangerous to muse upon.

  Concentrate, Hooper! he thought. Don’t look at the fancy decorations around the doors, think about what might come though them!

  The curving, rising path ended in another vast open space. Huge columns supported a solid ceiling so high that the lights barely touched it, yet the material still became subtly luminous, retaining some of the light they aimed upward. They were creating their own starry sky, soft splashes of color and light retained and shining back down at them, if only for a time.

  Around the nearest supporting column, upright objects cast long shadows.

  “Is that them?” Lachance whispered. They all paused, panting from the climb up the spiraling ramp, some of them groaning softly from their wounds. Ripley was relatively alert again, right hand pressed tightly across the wound in her stomach.

  “No,” she said. “Too big. Too still.”

  “Statues,” Hoop said. “At least I hope so. Come on. We’ll stay near the wall, look for another way up.”

  They kept close to the edge of the wide-open space. In truth the size of it scared Hoop. He’d rather move through corridors and tunnels than this inhuman cavern, where the lights couldn’t reach the other side and shadows might hide anything. But keeping close to the wall did something to hold back the agoraphobia.

  As they closed on the massive column and the statues arrayed around its base, some of the detail became clearer. There were a dozen figures standing on high stone plinths. Several of them had lost limbs, one of them a head, but others remained virtually whole. They were all dog-aliens, with their stocky legs, strange torsos, bulky heads, and yet each was distinct. Some carvings wore different clothing that almost covered their bodies. Others stood on their hind legs and reached for the sky, or pointed, or held their limbs up as if gesticulating. Even their facial features were diverse. Hoop could see carved areas around the plinth’s bases, and he assumed it was their written language. Maybe these were famous persons—rulers, teachers, or explorers.

  “No time,” he whispered, because he knew everyone would feel as fascinated as him. “Not now. Maybe we’ll come back. Maybe we’ll send someone back.”

  “They’d just die,” Ripley said. She seemed stronger now, as if becoming used to the pain, but he could still see the dark dampness of blood across her suit, and a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

  “We need to get you patched up,” Hoop said.

  “No, we—”

  “Now.” He refused to argue. Two minutes to bind and treat her wounds might save them half an hour if it meant she could walk under her own steam. “Guys, eyes and ears open. Ripley... strip. Kasyanov?”

  Kasyanov gently laid down her plasma torch, wincing from
the pain in her own terribly wounded hand, and unclipped her waist pack.

  Ripley started peeling off her slashed and bloodied suit. Hoop flinched back when he saw the open wound across her neck, shoulder, and upper chest, but he didn’t look away. The edges of the wound pouted open, skin tattered, flesh and fatty layers exposed. Revealing them to the air made Ripley woozy again, and she leaned against him as the doctor set to work.

  “This will hurt,” Kasyanov said. Ripley didn’t make a sound as Kasyanov sterilised the wound as best she could, washing out dark specks of dust and grit. She injected painkiller into six locations, then sprayed a local anaesthetic along the entire extent of the gaping cut.

  While the anaesthetic went to work she tugged down Ripley’s suit to below her waist and examined the stomach wound. As Hoop glanced down he caught Kasyanov frowning up at him.

  “Just do your best,” Ripley hissed.

  Hoop hugged Ripley to him, kissed the top of her head.

  “Hey,” she said. “Fast mover.”

  Kasyanov treated the stomach wound, then stood again and started stapling the gash across her shoulder. The staple gun made a whispering click each time it fired. Ripley tensed but still didn’t make a sound. After fixing the wound closed, Kasyanov taped a bandage across it and sprayed it with a sterile solution.

  Then she turned her attention back to the stomach wound, stapling it, as well.

  “I’ll fix you up properly when we get back to the Marion,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Ripley replied. “Right.”

  “You’ll be able to move easier now. Nothing’s going to pop or spill out.”

  “Great.”

  Kasyanov taped her stomach, then stood again. She took a small syringe from her pack.

  “This will keep you going. It’s not exactly... medicine. But it’ll work.”

  “I’ll take anything,” Ripley said. Kasyanov pressed the needle into her arm, then stood back and zipped up her pack.

  “You good?” Hoop asked.

  Ripley stood on her own, tucking her arms into her suit and shrugging it on. “Yeah,” she replied. “Good.”

  She wasn’t. He could see that, and hear it in her voice. She was in pain and woozy, and distracted, too. Ever since she’d wiped out those queen eggs she’d been somewhere else. But there was no time to discuss it now.

  Hoop thought again about those aliens viewing their burning infant queens, sniffing Ripley’s blood, and howling.

  “There,” he said, pointing along the base of the vast wall. “Openings. Whichever one leads up, we take it. Lachance, you take point. I’ve got Sneddon.” He knelt and took Sneddon’s weight onto his shoulder. As they moved out, he held back until Ripley was walking ahead of him. She moved in a very controlled way, every movement purposeful and spare.

  When they reached the first of the openings, Lachance shone his light inside. Moments later he waved them on and entered, and they started up another curving ramp.

  From behind, somewhere in the vast shadowy depths, something screeched.

  * * *

  The rough leaves tickle her stomach. They’re running across a field in France, weaving through the corn crop, arms up to push the stringy leaves aside and stop them scratching their eyes. She and Amanda are wearing their bathing costumes, and already she’s anticipating the breathtaking plunge into the lake.

  Amanda is ahead, a slim and sleek teenager, darting between corn rows and barely seeming to touch the plants. Ripley isn’t so graceful, and her stomach feels as though it has been scratched to shreds by the leaves. But she won’t look down to check. She’s afraid that if she does she’ll lose track of her daughter, and something about this...

  ...isn’t right.

  The sun shines, the corn crop rustles in a gentle breeze, there is silence but for their footfalls and Amanda’s excited giggling from up ahead. But still this is wrong. The lake awaits but they will never reach it. The sun is high, the sky clear, yet the heat hardly touches her skin. Ripley feels cold.

  She wants to call, Amanda, wait! But the leaves slapping across her stomach and chest seem to have stolen her voice.

  She sees something out of the corner of her eye. A shadow that does not belong in the cornfield, a shape too sharp and cruel. But when she looks it has gone.

  Her daughter is further ahead now, pushing plants aside as she sprints the final hundred meters to the field’s edge and the welcoming water.

  Something keeps pace with them off to the right, a dark shape streaking through the crop and smashing thick stalks into shreds. But looking directly at it means that Ripley can’t see it at all.

  She’s panicking now, trying to run faster, trying to shout. Amanda has vanished ahead, leaving behind only swaying plants.

  Ripley hears a high, loud screech. It’s not human.

  Bursting from the crop at the edge of the field, she sees Amanda caught in a grotesque web between two tall trees, trapped there in the strange, solid material that appears to have held her there for an age. Her daughter screams again as the bloody creature bursts fully from her chest.

  In her peripheral vision, Ripley sees those tall beasts moving out of the corn to pay homage to their newborn.

  Amanda screams one last time—

  * * *

  “Ripley, fast!” Hoop shouted.

  Ripley looked around, not shocked or surprised. She knew exactly where she was and why. The vision was a memory of a time that had never happened. But she still shed a tear for her cocooned, bleeding, screaming daughter. Terror mixed with anger, becoming a part of her, unwilling to let go.

  “They can’t win, Hoop,” she said. “We can’t let them.”

  “They won’t. Now run!”

  “What are you—?”

  “Run!” he shouted. He grabbed her hand and ran with her, but soon let her go again and fell back.

  “Don’t be stupid!” Ripley shouted back at him.

  “Argue, and we’ll all die!” Lachance called back. “Hoop knows what he’s doing.”

  They climbed the ramp. It was steeper than the first, the turns tighter, and it seemed to grow narrower and steeper the higher they went. Soon there were steps built into its surface, and they had to slow down so that they didn’t trip. Lachance carried Sneddon again. Kasyanov helped, and Baxter was using his plasma torch as a crutch, lamming it down and swinging along on it with every step. She wondered what effect that would have if he had to fire it again. She wondered...

  She turned and ran back down the ramp.

  “Ripley!” Lachance called.

  “Argue and we all die!” she said, and soon they were out of sight above her. For a while she was on her own, descending the ramp, illuminated by an already fading glow from the structure around her. Then she heard something running toward her and she crouched down close to the central spine.

  Hoop appeared, lit up by her flashlight’s beam. Sweating, eyes wide, he tensed, but didn’t relax again.

  “We really need to go,” he said.

  “How many?”

  “Too many.”

  Ripley wasn’t sure she could run again. Her stomach ached, she could barely move her right arm, and she felt sick. But the booster Kasyanov had given her coursed through her veins, and every negative thought was dragged down and hidden away. There was a sensory distance around her. Though unpleasant, it was also protecting her, so she embraced it, losing track of her various agonies. She knew that they would be waiting for her on the other side.

  From above, Lachance started shouting, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.

  “Oh, no,” Ripley said. Yet Hoop grinned and grabbed her hand, and before she knew it they were running up the ramp once more. She saw lights ahead of them, and the ramp ended in another wide space. This was more like a cave than a building—slopes of rocks, an uneven ceiling, walls that had only ever been touched by human tools.

  At the far end, Kasyanov and Baxter held Sneddon up between them. The first thing Ripley noticed was the
opening in the rock behind them.

  Then Sneddon lifted her head and looked around, and Ripley saw that the face-hugger was gone.

  18

  ELEVATOR

  When Hoop had broken away from the others, he’d seen at least ten of the aliens stalking through the massive room, searching between giant pillars, crouching by the statues and their plinths. There was enough fading light still emanating from the stonework, and as he’d watched their shadows had slowly merged into the surroundings.

  He’d backed away slowly, light extinguished, and then run, finding his way by feel. Ripley’s flashlight had brought light to his world again.

  Being back in the mine should have made him feel better. But Hoop knew that those things were still pursuing them, scenting blood, and that every second’s delay would bring them closer. The elevator was their salvation. Reach that, go up, and they’d be way ahead of the game. It was now a simple race. And for once, things seemed to be going well.

  The thing had dropped from Sneddon’s face and died, and they’d left it back there in the tunnels. She seemed fine. Quiet, confused, a little scared, but able to walk on her own, and even keen to carry the spray gun that Lachance had been hefting for her.

  With Sneddon on her feet again and Ripley patched up, it meant that they could move faster than before. Even Baxter seemed to have found his stride, using his plasma torch as a crutch. Hoop dared to hope.

  If we get out of this I’m going home, he thought. The idea had stuck with him for some time, and he’d been thinking of his kids. He hadn’t seen them for seven years, didn’t know if they’d remember him, had no idea how much his ex-wife might have turned them against him. They were adults now, plenty old enough to ask why he hadn’t stayed in touch. No contact at all. Nothing on their birthdays, no messages at Christmas. How difficult would it be for him to explain, when he wasn’t even sure of the reasons himself?

  But when this was over and they launched themselves back toward Earth, it would be his last time. To arrive back home would be so wonderful it was now all he could wish for.